Pickle Pie
by FascistChairLover
Summary: The moon was bleeding silver tears of pain and. Dean was gazing into the depths of the starry trees, wondering where his sandwich and pickle pie had gone. Just as he came to a conclusion about why his stomach was full, he heard a loud rustle in the...
1. Chapter 1

Title: Story

Author: Soul-fag

Summary:

The moon was bleeding silver tears of pain and.

Dean was gazing into the depths of the starry trees, wondering where his sandwich and pickle pie had gone. Just as he came to a conclusion about why his stomach was full, he heard a loud rustle in the Impala. Sam moaned out "Hey, where is our box of condoms?"

"We forgot to pack extras after the truck stop rendezvous."

God, Dean missed guns. They cool, smooth feel of 'em as you gripped them hard and just let loose all over who or whatever the Hell was in front of you. The total reckless abandon they gave allowed and even encouraged. They were all good, small, big, long, short, fat, thin – every single one of them had purpose and could, without a doubt, get a job done. You just had to know how to use it. Dean smirked. It really wasn't the size of the tool, you just had to know how to use it. He didn't quite know when this had become a big metaphor for dicks, but it ended at tool – size did matter there.

Where did he pick up metaphor? It was probably Sam. It was always Sam's fault in one way or another. Dean found that in any given situation, and they had been through a Hell of a lot in the past few years, most often, the entire mess could be traced directly back to one Sam Winchester. Dean really didn't know where his mom and dad had gone wrong on him. Crap, he had raised Sammy, hadn't he? Well, he had been too busy, starting hunting before he could graduate from elementary school. Which led him back to…right, guns.

Sixth grade had been a good year, getting his first sawed-off shotgun, killing his first monster. He had mostly been delegated to salt and burn or be a lookout before that. Sixth grade had been good and he felt like he was back there, all of a sudden. This time around, it didn't seem so good. This, again, led him back to missing guns so much.

A small, mousy girl eyed him wearily. She was the kind of girl Dean wouldn't look twice at unless he was drunk and wanted an easy lay, because really, a frizzy haired girl with buckteeth just reeked of inadequacy issues and some kind of complex that could be played upon to get her into bed – he meant, if he was actually back to the proper age.

"You're not supposed to be here." The weird little nerd girl interrupted his thought. Some part of him was grateful but he was quick to retort.

"Watch your mouth, kid. I can be where ever I want-"

"No," she interrupted him again. "I mean, you shouldn't be here. You're a..muggle." Something about the way she said the word made it seem foreign and dirty – a new slang, swear word perhaps? He'd have to call Sam it later and see what happened.

Dean turned towards her and pointed a finger. "You really need to…watch your mouth, kid." He didn't have much besides that. "And be careful where you pick up those kinds of words. I'm sure you're little teacher is prowling around right now, pussies have always been tricky like that."

The girl's eyes bulged nearly out of their sockets and her skin tinted light red. Sam snorted besides him and Dean glared at him before turning around the room. Maybe the teacher was around somewhere, prowling. "Cat, I meant. Cat?" He pressed forward, eager to convince this odd girl and the potential threat hiding in the shadows. "You know, like pussy-cat?" Somehow, she didn't seem very convinced. She simply nodded and stepped backward, bumping into some ginger kid who seemed to be busy ignoring her as best as he could.

Sam outright laughed. "Dean, stop. You're scaring the kids. Five minutes and you're already close to getting on the sex offender registry."

"They have one of those?" Not that Dean intended to do anything to get put on it, but still.

Sam just shook his head and pressed his lips into a thin line, avoiding laughing. Dean didn't know which was more aggravating, the laughter and jibing, or the stubborn silence and forced neutral expression. It was easier to not choose and just be equally made either way. Fairer, too. Dean straightened up. He was so fair with his brother. A quick jab to Sam's side had him wheezing slightly. Very fair. That had been going easy on him. He could have…told or something. Sam would have. Really, Dean was too kind.

Dean idly glanced around, wondering when exactly the show was going to get on the road. Did professors make a habit of being this late? And why weren't the students going wild? There was some whispering here and there, sure, but nothing like he remembered of school. Then again, he always used to be the center of such chaos when the teacher left the room. He smiled again; sixth grade was such a good time.

The mouse-girl caught his eye again and he could have sworn she was staring at him as if he was some kind of ghost or freak like that. He nodded at her seriously and turned only to find that Sam was looking at him weird, too. Not like a ghost or anything. Sam should know better than the little creepy school girl that Dean was not a ghost. But something. Like for a second, Dean was not Dean and Sam was not Sam. That kind of look.

Something had to give, and as usual, it was Dean. "Dude. What?" He flicked his eyes around the room to make sure Sam wasn't just seeing something he wasn't, then back to Sam and urged him on silently.

"You." Sam said. He was being so helpful, as per usual. Dean resisted backhanding him or kicking him or something to vent his frustration at him, mouse-rabbit behind him, the annoying ginger and black haired kid who kept whispering and laughing, and the whole freaking situation they were. Sam shook his head finally and looked away. "You're smiling like…that. Nothing ever good can come of that smile. When you look so happy."

Dean blinked and frowned then looked at the girl that had never heard of Pantene to verify that he had heard right. Before he could speak, he was interrupted.


	2. Chapter 2

Title: Story

Author: Soulhag

"Misters Winchester, I presume?" a reedy voice came from behind them.

Dean spun on his heel in alarm to face an elderly woman in a witch's hat. It looked like one of those damn Halloween costumes, all pointy and broad brimmed. He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing and quirked the side of his mouth at her.

That shit drove ladies crazy.

The woman gazed at him imperiously, unimpressed, and he cursed inwardly.

Fuckin' broad must not be a lady.

"Yes, Sam and Dean," Sam said from behind him, stepping around his brother to give the woman a grim smile. "You must be Professor McGonagall?"

"Albus told me there would be muggles attending my class for the next few weeks, but I must confess I was not expecting anyone quite so…" McGonagall trailed off as she tilted her head back to look Sam in the face, and raised a hand to her hat as it began to slide off from the extreme angle.

"Moose-like?" Dean supplied. There were titters from the children behind him. "Gargantuan?" More giggles. "Sasquatchian?" Outright laughs on that one. Fuck yes, Dean was SO good at being a sixth grader. "Freakishly tall behe-"

"That will be enough," she snapped, and the laughter died down. "I was not expecting anyone quite so _OLD_. This is a school for children."

"Yeah, well, Sammy here is freakin' awesome at grade school." Dean grinned and jabbed a thumb at his brother.

"And Dean is awesome at acting like a twelve year old," Sam retorted bitchily. He then quickly added, "And it's Sam. Not Sammy."

"Gentlemen, I have a class to teach. Please have a seat," Professor McGonagall sighed, gesturing toward the rows of desks.

They turned to look at the child-sized desks, and Sam swallowed noisily. Approaching them slowly, Dean stuck a foot between the seat and desk and promptly got his boot stuck. He bent over to try to wrestle it free.

Sam squatted down and began to try to squeeze his hips into the narrow space, wiggling and pushing until the desk began to tilt dangerously. Then, before Dean could even warn him, his younger brother and the entire chair and desk crashed backwards onto the stone floor with a loud bang.

Dean – and the rest of the classroom, filled with his mental and emotional equals – burst into laughter. Sam glared up at the hand Dean offered him, still chuckling through a wide smile.

"Aw Sammy, I didn't know you were gonna fight me to be class clown," he said, hauling his brother to his feet.

Sam shuddered at the word "clown" and (mustering what Dean could only assume was his Primo A-1 Classic Bitchface) snapped, "You can have it, you damn jerk."

"Mister Winchester!" Professor McGonagall's shrill voice made Sam leap. Judging from the terror on his face, Dean wondered if his brother's balls had leapt up inside him. "Your language!"

"I…"

"That is quite enough," the woman cut him off, and pulled out her wand.

"SAM!" Dean roared, diving into Sam and knocking them both to the floor.

"_Engorgio_," McGonagall announced, then sighed heavily. "Misters Winchester. If you would be so kind as to take your seats and cease the dramatics?"

Dean peered up from where his head was buried in Sam's shoulder. He felt his brother shiver as his nose brushed the bare skin of his throat. Clearing his throat, he looked up at the witches and wizards staring down at them in disbelief. A cursory glance at the desks revealed they were now large enough to seat even Gigantor.

"Son of a bitch," he hissed under his breath. "Friggin' witches."

"Just get off me, you weigh a ton," Sam growled and shoved at him.

"Whatever, you love it," Dean replied with a smirk, getting to his feet.

"I've been looking forward to this transfiguration class for three days now, just sit down," Sam muttered as he smoothly leapt up and sat down in the desk.

Sam looked down where the red haired boy was seated next to him. The look of mystification and bemusement on the boy's face was enough to make Sam smile weakly at him and offer a half wave.

"Don't annoy McGonagall, mate," the boy whispered. "She's nice enough now, but she's a right _harpy_ when she's mad."

"Thanks for the tip," Sam murmured.

"Is that your brother?" the ginger boy asked, gesturing toward Dean. Sam followed his glance to where his older brother was stuffing an enormous handful of Bernie Bott's Every Flavor Beans into his mouth.

"If I said no, would you believe me?" Sam asked weakly.

The boy shook his head. "I've got a load of brothers, I know 'em when I see 'em. I'm Ron, by the way."

The frizzy haired girl sitting on the other side of Sam handed Ron a bowl, and gesture for him to pass it to Sam. Sam accepted the wooden bowl carefully, glancing at McGonagall, who seemed too occupied in calling roll to notice them.

"For Dean," the girl whispered, pointing. Sam turned to see Dean slow down the chewing of his massive mouthful of candy, go pale, then a bright shade of red, and then a sort of…

"Mauve," she whispered. "It's the color their faces go after red and before-"

"Puce," Sam finished for her, watching Dean's face.

The girl met his eyes, and he saw her face go slightly slack with awe and wonder.

"I've been reading up on wizarding culture," Sam confessed. The small girl's eyes (which were remarkably ferret-like, Sam had to admit… must have been Dean's influence rubbing off on him) went wide and glossy.

"I'm Hermione," she murmured dreamily. "You're Sam Winchester. You and your brother, Dean, have permission to be here in order to hunt a demon who may have possessed a student here."

Dean made a coughing, gagging noise behind him, and grabbed the bowl from Sam before retching loudly.


	3. Chapter 3

Vomit was a terrible, terrible thing. Despite the horrors they had faced so far, at least no one had puked in class before. From the second he had walked into the room, she had known he was going to be trouble. It was just that kind of look. Hermione huffed at not knowing the proper word for it. Belligerent, devil-may-care, over-confident, class-clown all rolled into one. Someone like Fred and George with Malfoy's arrogance and Ron's idiocy.

Hermione couldn't resist grimacing as she banished the bowl along with its contents and turned away to ready herself for class. Professor McGonagall was already speaking to the class about the next spell set they would learning. Panic ignited in Hermione's spine as she hurried to pull out her things. How could two brothers distract her so much? Ron had five. And all-together they were much weirder than these two.

She cast an eye over to them as she pulled out her notes to make sure that she wouldn't have to banish anymore vomit.

First, she had her notes that she took to recite all she had known about the lesson before the reading and lesson. Next, she had her notes she took while reading the chapter assigned which she revised and copied for clarity. Finally, she had her current notes which she took right before class to make sure she had retained the information.

Pulling out her quill, she began to catch up to Professor McGonagall, after briefly noting what she had missed. Really, nothing should distract her from her studies. A soft noise to her left drew Hermione's attention. Amidst a few quill scratches (her, along with a few diligent Hufflepuffs and Ron scribbling at a dragon with McGonagall's head to Harry Potter's amusement), there was one softer scratch that didn't sound right at all. That wasn't a quill, it was a…

"Pen," Hermione whispered in surprise. Professor McGonagall glanced at her and Hermione had the decency to blush and look down until she felt the burning stare leave her hair. Then she looked back up and over to where Sam Winchester was writing with a pen. She hadn't seen one of those in months – she missed home. Her hand reached out to take it before faltering her. How rude.

The noise and movement made Sam look up. "Hm?" he said, looking at her with a slight questioning tilt of his head. Hermione swallowed and began to gape as she realized what this meant. He was taking notes. There was a lot already so… She found herself pointing, words lost.

Sam looked down and chuckled. "Yeah, um, I borrowed your book from Mrs. Pince and did some light reading before the class."

"And," Hermione urged and reached out to tap his notebook (she hadn't seen one of those in ages, either). Words were still somehow getting garbled on their way up through her throat.

Sam bit his lip and glanced at his brother before looking at her with an odd, embarrassed gleam to his eye. "Well. What's the point of reading if you're not going to write it down to make sure you have learned something?"

A downright gasp escaped Hermione's lips at that.

She could feel the Professor before she heard her. "Mrs. Granger, is there something you would like to share with the class?" Somehow, Professor McGonagall was right next to their desks within seconds, cutting words running right into Hermione's ears, turning them bright red.

"I…no, I, professor." Hermione nodded and closed her hands as though she had formed a proper sentence. Hands sweaty, all she could do is dig her nails into her hands and try not to cry. She knew she had to be careful. She was being tested and at any turn she could be deemed a squib and kicked out of Hogwarts. They were talked all about in "Squibs: A Sad Spell-less State". "I…" Hermione tried again, to no avail.

"She was just helping me understand a concept, Professor McGonagall." Hermione turned to stare at Sam. "I'm afraid this is all so new. I couldn't help but ask what you meant exactly by conjuration." There was something about the drawn together eye-brows and almost puppy-dog expression that made Hermione want to believe him which made Professor McGonagall's reply almost understandable.

"Very well, if you were to ask anyone, Miss Granger would be the best source o accurate and extensive information." Hermione had to fluster at that comment. "However, take care not to interrupt my class with questions better left to after class discussion."

Sam nodded and murmured, "Of course." He was lying, though. Hermione knew it. He had read the chapter. He had read the bloody chapter and taken notes. Was that color coding, he had? Hermione felt faint. And since when did she use language like Ron?

Something about Sam's gaze at her broke her concentration.

"Are you alright?"

Before she could answer, she heard a scratchy, deep voice behind him. "Freakin' nerds."

She swallowed and continued on with minimal stammering. "I'm fine, Sam." Hermione wanted to look around him and glare at Dean Winchester but Sam was mostly blocking her view of the annoying, foul-mouthed, arrogant, self-centered man-child. After that, she looked away. Terrible though he was, she never dealt well with conflict and preferred to avoid it.

A small grunt sounded behind her and she whipped around. What happened to Sam? Then she saw Dean rubbing his side and Sam looking smug. Ah, so that was how he dealt with bullies.

Hermione grabbed her wand at sent a small stinging hex to Dean Winchester's leg.

"What the fu-"

"Mr. Winchester!" McGonagall cut him off.

Hermione smiled and finally turned back to the clock, realizing class was almost over and she had only managed to write a bare outline of what she had remembered. Yes, now she remembered how she had gotten so distracted and it wasn't entirely terrible. That had felt good.

She could just read more later or ask Sam.


	4. Chapter 4

Dean hunched next to the doorway to the classroom, arms crossed tightly over his chest as twerps in robes filed past him. Christ on crackers, leaving America had been the worst idea they'd ever had, let alone coming to this bizarre castle school of magic and… gayness. What the hell was taking Sam so long in that classroom?

Shaggy Glassesface and his lackey Fire Balls (Dean had given them the nicknames while the professor had been rambling about teacups and playing with "wands" and other weird British shit) stopped next to him outside the door, and watched it expectantly for a moment before turning toward him.

"I can't believe you ate an entire handful of Bernie Botts'," the ginger kid said to him, eyes wide.

Dean grimaced. "Is that what passes for food in this mausoleum?"

"They've got more normal stuff," the kid with glasses told him, and reached into his bag, pulling out an orange pastry thing. "Try a pumpkin pasty."

Dean unwrapped it and shoved the entire thing in his mouth. "Fangks," he garbled, and both boys stared at him. He forced himself to swallow, wincing, and then grinned. "Dean Winchester." He held his hand out.

"Harry Potter," Shaggy Glasses said.

"Ron Weasley." The ginger kid shook his hand. Christ, what a name.

"I'm sorry," Dean told him sincerely. "I'm sure your parents actually love you. Maybe it's a family name, or something."

Ron opened his mouth, looking befuddled, and then closed it again, looking more confused. Dean patted his shoulder comfortingly.

"Hermoine says demons aren't real," Harry interrupted the bonding moment (obviously he was seriously territorial about his friends. Jeez, Dean was gonna have to take it easy around this kid.).

Dean refrained from snorting, but couldn't help the pitying smile. "Okay, kid. How about just the same, you answer me a question or two. Both of you." They both nodded. "You seen anybody acting weird? Maybe not like themselves, but maybe just sneaky."

"SNAPE!" Ron shouted abruptly.

At the same moment, Harry yelled "DRACO!" so emphatically that his glasses nearly fell off his nose.

Dean took a moment to glance at the boys critically. They looked… a bit crazed. And their answers had been a bit _too_ quick, like they had some kind of grudge. Good to know magical high schoolers were just as petty as regular ones.

"Oooookay," he said and shoved his hands in his pockets. "Seen anybody with black eyes? Avoiding silver? Stop putting salt on their food? Smoking without a cigarette? Slitting throats? Praising the Dark Lord?"

A collective gasp went up in the hallway, and the dozens of students around them froze in their tracks.

"We call him He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named," Ron muttered to him. "And no, we haven't."

"Well actually…" Harry hesitated, and Dean immediately turned to him. "Rhonda Rhodewater. She always wears this silver badger around her neck."

A badger. What the frigging frig. Dean bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing.

"I only remember because a pixie grabbed it during class and nearly throttled her with it. Anyway, she stopped wearing it about a week ago. And she had a mark round her throat for a day or two till she magicked it away."

Dean nodded, face serious. "Rhonda Rhodewater. Got it. Where can I find her?"

"Hufflepuff wing," Ron said, thumbing toward one end of the castle. "Most likely, anyway."

Sam suddenly walked out of the classroom, with the ferret girl scuttling after him dreamily, seconds from having her pupils obscured by giant pink throbbing hearts. Dean smirked. Fuck, this was gonna be good.

"Sam," she blurted as he waved to his brother and started to walk over. "You. I mean. Your notes. I… I'm afraid I missed… Because… there was the pen…" Her face went beet red, and Dean smirked. "Could you explain… or just the notes… there's a tavern. Drinks. You know. Notes. Books?"

Sam looked so uncomfortable. His forehead was all wrinkly and his mouth all curled awkwardly, and his fucking ears were the same color as ginger kid's HAIR. Oh God. Why had Dumbledore forbidden their cellphones on campus? This was a goddamn Kodak moment, and Dean didn't have a single tool to capture it short of pen and paper.

Not that there was any way Dean's stick figures could accurately capture the way Sam fumbled with his notes and shoved them into the girl's hands.

Dean felt CarrotTop tense next to him. Smirking, Dean raised an eyebrow and glanced at him. Teenagers were so frigging ridiculous.

Sam was quickly walking from the girl, giving Dean an expression that clearly read Can We Get The Fuck Out Of This Hallway NOW Please? Ferret Girl clutched the papers to her chest and watched them go.

"Twelve year olds, am I right?" Dean snickered as Sam dragged him by the elbow down the hall.

"Twelve?" Sam asked, glancing irritably over his shoulder. "They're sixteen."

"Six- what?" Dean demanded, twisting to look over his shoulder at her, and nearly tripping over his feet. "I'm pretty sure they don't even make a bra that small. I wear a bigger cup than she does."

"No one wants to hear you brag about your dick," Sam retorted dryly. He finally stopped after they'd rounded a corner into a quiet, empty hallway. "I hope no one saw that. I'm pretty sure she was six seconds away from offering to give me a guided tour of her bedroom."

"Are these kids really full on teenagers?" Dean asked in disbelief. "They're tiny. And so awkward. Even _you_ were more developed at that age."

"Dean," Sam mumbled warningly.

"Seriously, you weren't even that tall then," Dean said, still looking down the hall, obviously hoping for another glimpse, "but you had those broad shoulders that were already showing muscle-"

"Dean," Sam repeated, sounding like an embarrassed teenager admonishing a gushing parent.

"-And the long throat, and the way your ass looked in jeans? Man, you should have seen the way girls stared at that thing."

"_Dean_!" Sam's entire face was flaming crimson.


	5. Chapter 5

Ron huffed and looked around, but he couldn't see where the two had disappeared off to.

"Great, Hermione. You managed to scare off the only thing interesting happening around here." Ron threw a glare at her, but her eyes held a far-off look and she was staring down some corridor.

"My god-father _is_ trying to kill me," Harry murmured behind them.

Ron kicked at ground, making a squeaking noise as his trainer scuffed - no one seemed to be listening to him. Not that that was anything new. No one ever listened to Ron Weasley, brother of The Twins or The Prefect or The Dragon Trainer, or, even better, best friend of The Harry Potter. Neither of them replied to Harry and that gave Ron some kind of twisted satisfaction. Surely they would run into the Winchesters again. Ron led them, knowing Harry and Hermione were too far into their own worlds to get themselves to class.

"Bloody hell," Ron breathed out and stopped for a moment. What was the world coming to when he was the one making sure they get to class? Harry and Hermione bumped into him and stopped but didn't even bother to question Ron. Maybe he would just stand here until one of them came to and realized they were in the middle of a corridor, doing nothing but collecting dust and maybe they ought to get to potions.

Ron shook his head fiercely, gravely wishing those words never echoed in his mind again – they felt as dirty and grimy as Snape's hair. Finally, he noticed they weren't alone. Pale as – well, a ghost, Neville stood there, ten feet into a side corridor, shaking and mumbling under his breath. Ron bristled, alert for danger around any corner. You never knew with this school. Almost immediately, though, he relaxed and stepped forward. This was Neville Longbottom – he still got scared by the Bloody Baron.

Ron reached out and beckoned Neville. "Come on, mate, we've got to get to potions." Not that that would make him feel any better. It was quite possible that the only person Snape picked on more than Harry was Neville. Neville just stood there, his feet minutely shuffling without making any actual progress. Sighing in annoyance and knowing that no one else was going to get anything done about it, Ron stepped forward and locked his arm with Neville's before dragging him forward. "Come on, then, tell us what happened."

After starting to move, Neville looked up at Ron as if this was the first time he had seen him. "Ron," he dropped off after that, as if that lone word was enough of an exclamation. Ron sighed and led his train of wanderers downwards towards the dungeons.

"Yes, Neville, it's me, mate. What happened to make you look like that? – stark raving mad, it seemed."

Neville barely paid attention to the slight. "The Winchester brothers – Dean and Sam? I saw them."

Everything stopped. Ron did, so thus did Neville. And this time, neither following body hit him. Ron turned around to see two pairs of very attentive eyes.

"What about Sam, Neville?" Hermione stepped forward and asked, placing her hand on Neville's elbow in a comforting gesture. If you ask Ron, she hadn't looked more threatening to Neville since she stunned him in first year.

"Well, I heard them talking and-" Neville stopped and tilted his head towards Hermione. "You told them we were sixteen?"

"What the bloody hell, Hermione?" Ron had no clue why he was so enraged by this but he was. Hermione had lied, that was wrong, wasn't it? He looked at Harry for support but got nothing but a seeming equal reproach for everyone in this conversation.

Hermione had the decency to blush. "Well, it's not that big of an exaggeration-"

"We're in third year, Hermione. Thirteen years old!" Ron cut her off, exclaiming.

Her eyes narrowed and venom leaked through her words, promising awful things that a basilisk fang wouldn't dream of doing. "I am fourteen, Ronald. My birthday was in September, thank you very much."

Ron looked down at his trainers and kicked again. That was beside the point, wasn't it?

"So did you see anything else, Neville?" Ron turned towards Neville, knowing enough from chess to pick his battles and retreat from a clearly losing one.

Neville took a deep gulp of air and nodded furiously. "Yeah. They were…" his nose scrunched up as if he had smelled on of Fred and George's stink bombs, "weird," he breathed with finality.

Ron shook his head and started pulling them forward again. "Well, thanks for that. Clear it right up, doesn't it?" He wanted to laugh but he was tired of these Winchesters already, even though it would be wicked to have Dean as a brother rather than any of his. He was the perfect blend of joking, like Fred or George, and bloody great like Charlie. Although Sam was a bit too much like Percy for his liking.

Neville tugged on Ron's arm and looked at him with the same just-seen-a-ghost-like-that-doesn't-happen-every-day face. "No, weird. Really odd. They were close and they talked about…uh…Sam's ass." Ron snorted. This was nothing new or interesting. He had heard his brothers swear loads and he did it sometimes, too. Neville really must have eaten something off for breakfast or maybe he got up on the wrong side of the bed or one of those sick plants attacked him – who knows? All Ron wanted to do was get to potions on time so he didn't have to endure Snape.

He shot a glare at Hermione, wanting to let her know that it was definitely in some way her fault that he was starting to act like her, because she was clearly more interested in gazing at walls with glassy eyes. Ron kept going, Harry and Hermione in toe, leaving Neville standing there, still dazed.

"I…I think, Dean kissed his neck or something." Neville murmured, as if someone was still there, listening to him.


	6. Chapter 6

"It was just a game of gay chicken," Dean complained loudly, tenderly prodding his now swollen jaw as Sam peered around a corner in the Hufflepuff wing. "I don't see what you're getting so uptight about."

"We're brothers," Sam snapped, pulling their homemade EMF meter from his pocket. "And it's bad enough I'm getting mentally undressed by a girl who probably can't say the word 'sex' without inserting an 'm' into it. I can only stand so much sexual harassment in one day." He fiddled with the dial on the meter.

"Can I help it if you're so _smmmmmexy_?" Dean asked with a deep growl.

"Shut up," Sam ordered as the EMF detector suddenly went wild.

Immediately Dean's game face was on, and he reached into his back pocket for a vial of salt. "A read out like that, there must be at least a half dozen ghosts in here."

As the words left his mouth, a white, translucent figure floated past them, down the hallway. Dean snatched the EMF away from his brother and shoved it into his pocket, while pulling a short metal rod from the inside his pant leg.

Sam pulled a set of iron-tipped brass knuckles from his coat pocket, and slid them on, flexing his fingers.

"Look," he muttered as they moved swiftly and silently down the hall after the ghost, "it's just that it makes me feel uncomfortable, okay? I mean, it could be a real thing. One of us being sexually attracted to the other. We were raised in such weird conditions. We have a really close relationship. We're both really good looking."

"You got something you wanna share with me, Sammy?" Dean asked slyly, casting a grin at him.

"What if I did?" Sam replied, hand digging in his pocket for his own salt packet. "Would it be so funny then? Would you want to go around kissing my neck and making comments about my ass? Would you feel the same way?"

Dean stopped short and turned to give his brother a long, considering look. Sam straightened and looked down at his brother in silence. They stared at one another, until Sam felt his brother's questioning eyes finish burning their way through his body.

"Dude, I think that ghost is wearing a dog cone of shame," Dean said finally.

Sam turned to look. But the hallway was empty. He turned back to Dean.

A transparent, round face with dark eyes, and orange bow-tie and a maniacal grin was there instead, and it let out a cackle of glee as Sam howled and flung himself backwards.

"Oh FUCK," Sam gasped, and threw the salt in his hand at the apparition. But it had already disappeared, its haunting laughter still ringing in the arched stone ceiling of the hall.

Dean's face was covered in some kind of gooey, melted cheesy substance, and he was furiously trying to wipe it away. "Christ, motherfucker got it in my eyes," Dean hissed. "Burns like a son of a bitch."

"Hold on," Sam said, grabbing Dean's hands and pulling them away from his face. "You're going to make it worse if you rub at it." He pulled Dean's outer shirt off him and began to wipe the goo off his face in long sweeps. "This smells bizarre. And familiar."

Dean shuddered. "It smells like our motel rooms and dirty socks did when we were teenagers."

Sam choked on a laugh as he realized aloud, "Oh my god, it smells like that ghost sprayed your face with–"

"SHUT UP!" Dean sputtered.

A voice came echoing from somewhere in the hallway. "_Two muggle brothers came to Hogwarts! Two muggle brother smell like pig farts! Two muggle brothers hunting a demon! Two muggle brothers covered in s-_"

"Get it OFF!" Dean roared.

* * *

Hermione leaned against Ron, looking wistfully at her notes. "Do you see it, Ron? Do you see his penmanship? It's so perfect."

"Does lovesickness often cause seasickness?" Ron sniped to Harry. "Because I feel bloody nauseous."

"I think the only real side effect is herpes," Harry said vacantly, staring across the Gryffindor common room. "Do you see Fortunata's eyes?"

"Oh forget her eyes," Hermione sighed. "Who even cares. They're not hazel, and sparkling, and…" She heaved another sigh. "Absolutely perfect."

"You're atrocious like this," Ron griped, and moved away from her, so that she teetered on her feet for a moment before righting herself. "Sandy's probably almost forty, anyway."

"Sam," Hermione corrected him. "And he's in his late twenties. Maybe earlier thirties."

"Still too old for you," Ron retorted.

"Seriously, she keeps turning away, but I think there's something wrong with them," Harry said. "Same with Oliver's."

Ignoring him completely, Hermione stamped a foot and said, "Relationships with large age differences happen ALL THE TIME, and who are you to judge whether or not two people are meant to be?"

"Well it's a crime for him to date you, for one," Ron pointed out. "He would literally be breaking the law if he took you out to dinner. For another, he's obviously shagging Denny."

"Their eyes look black to me," Harry said, now with a slight panic. "Do you think they're black?"

"They're BROTHERS!" Hermione said shrilly. "I don't care what Neville thinks he saw, he's a cotton-headed ninny-muggins who can't even remember to tie his shoelaces in the morning. You ought to learn to control yourself, Ronald Weasley, and not go spreading lies about other people!"

"Spreading lies?" Ron gasped, scandalized. "It's not a lie if someone saw it, besides which, we were all there when they snuggled on the floor of Transfiguration! That's not a rumor, that's what we all SAW with our own eyes! There's something wrong with those two, I should know!"

"That's not what you said to Neville when he was telling us about it!" Hermione snapped.

"Guys," Harry said softly.

"_What_?" Ron snapped. He paused, suddenly realizing that the common room had gone silent.

And that thirty pairs of black eyes were focused on them.


End file.
